


Wonderland

by Rina (rinadoll)



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/M, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Slice of Life, Snow, Winter, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/pseuds/Rina
Summary: Good things happen when it snows, even during wartime winters.





	Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueorangecrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueorangecrush/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, BOC! I hope you enjoy.

**December 1914**  
Rilla woke up with a delicious fluttery feeling in her stomach. It was delightful, this sense of something _fun_ about to happen, and she smiled into her pillow. When she opened her eyes, she could see why--the night had brought their first snow and her room was bright with it. She threw back the covers and dashed on cold toes towards the window and saw that the Glen was blanketed every which way.

She had her fingers on the sash, ready to let in the crisp air, when the baby snuffled behind her and she deflated. Mustn't let it catch cold, she thought resentfully. But oh, it looked so lovely out there, and she could hear the jolly shouts of kids already outside. Why should she be deprived of the fun of the first snow for a little war-baby? 

She just wouldn't, and that was that. She pulled out the baby’s warmest things and got herself ready. By the time she was done, the baby was stirring. She wanted to rush them through his morning feed and routine, but out of respect for Morgan, held herself in check. 

Finally, they were ready. And joy of joys, more snow was falling. Rilla crunched a new path for them down towards Rainbow Valley, where she had spent so many snows, first and otherwise, with her brothers and sisters and the Merediths. They hadn't had a good romp in ages, of course, but those days didn't feel so far away on a morning like this.

She set the child down on a thick blanket she’d brought and dug him a little snow cave to be tucked into. It would keep him dry and a bit warmer at least a little longer, to give her time to enjoy the snow herself. 

Baby squared away, she indulged in a tiny little snowman, thinking of the many she had built with Walter, especially, over the years. She patted it gently, and pulled out her diary. She'd write a little poem to send with her next letter to Redmond.

She set to work and let the words come. She surfaced a quarter of an hour later, satisfied. The war had robbed her of mornings ripe with good, happy anticipation, and this one had been a treat. She wanted to hold on to the feeling as long as she could, and she thought this poem would do it.

The gurgling and cooing of the baby brought her back to the present. His cheeks were rosy and becoming in the sweet fresh air and she couldn’t help smiling at him. In return, he gave her a wide grin, waving his arms inside his little cave and kicking his feet as snowflakes landed on them. 

Good things happened in the first snow. Perhaps this signaled more good to come. Perhaps, even, this little one’s father would be coming home soon, along with Jem and the others.

Cheered, she gathered her things, lifted the baby and headed home. Nothing bad could last forever.

 **December 1915**  
“Willa-will! Willa!!” 

Rilla rushed into the living room, alarmed at the shock in Jims’ voice. “Jims, darling, what happened?”

“Wow, Willa. Wow!” His hands and nose were glued to the window.

“Oh, Jims,” Rilla sighed, loosening her grip on the bread she'd been buttering for him. “What do you see?”

“What dat?” He asked, turning to look at her with wide eyes. 

“Let’s see.” Rilla came up behind him. “Oh, Jims, that’s snow,” she said, brightening. “It is beautiful.”

“Wow,” he breathed again. 

“After lunch, we’ll go outside and play a little before your nap,” Rilla said. “We’ll have to get dressed very warmly, but it’ll be fun.”

“Eat now,” he said, holding hand out for the bread. 

“At the table, imp,” Rilla said, and he scampered off as fast as his chubby little legs could go.

There was nary a battle at lunch, so Rilla bundled him up snugly right after. She took his hand tightly as they walked out the door into a wonderland. While they’d eaten, snowfall had covered the grass thoroughly, lined the bare branches and frosted the evergreens. It had given everything a new air, familiar to Rilla but not so to the small boy.

Jims stared out at the landscape, eyes wide and lip between his teeth. Rilla watched him, amused. He bent down and poked at the snow with one mittened hand. It obliged with a tiny dent, which he poked again and again until he cleared a spot straight down to the stair. Seeing this familiar bit of outside, he nodded and carefully stood back up. 

“Wow,” he said. “Play?”

And play they did. Rilla taught him how to mold the snow into snowballs for tossing and building into snowmen and when she tired of being his target, showed him how to create snow angels. They’d created an entire flock when Rilla realized that Jims’ eyes, while sparkling, were also blinking slower and slower.

“Oh, dear,” she said, scooping him up. “Say night-night to the angels, Jims.”

“Night,” he mumbled. “Play?”

“The snow isn’t going away,” Rilla said, as the warmth of the kitchen enveloped them. “We’ll play more later.”

Mrs. Blythe met them with two blankets. “I’ll take this scallywag,” she said, sliding him from Rilla’s arms amid her protests, and already stripping his wet winter clothes. “You dry and warm yourself, darling, I’ll put this one down for his nap.” She smiled. “How many wee boys have I seen tire themselves out in the snow? It does my heart good.” She kissed Jims’s small head as he snuggled in with smacking lips and she whisked him off.

Mother really was a brick, Rilla mused as she dried herself by the fire. Perhaps she and Jims would invite her to join them the next time they went outside to play, let her relive some old memories. Yes, that was the ticket, she decided, as she fixed them each a mug of cocoa. Old memories and new would do her well.

 **December 1916**  
Two weeks of snow and storms, and they hadn’t been out once. Rilla gazed out the window, mindlessly knitting yet another sock, listening to Jims’s clear, easy breathing across the room. Ever since his close brush with death, she couldn’t take it for granted. He’d been such a good little chap, patient while she ignored him in her grief, and deserved so much more than he was getting. He’d had such fun the entire previous winter, never really losing his sense of wonder over the snow coming down to be a playmate for him.

After a week, Rilla knew that he was healthy enough to go outside to play. She knew her father agreed with that assessment, as well. But she just couldn’t push herself to do it. She was worried about Jims, of course, but the whole idea of it just exhausted her. It was so much easier to let him entertain himself inside the house while she did all that was necessary to be done.

She let her knitting fall to her lap and frowned at herself and this line of thinking. Push! When had she ever needed a push to go out and enjoy nature? She was a Blythe, and it was built into their very blood, with thanks to their mother. Easy? When lately had she done the easy thing? This was not a flattering portrait of herself. 

She dropped her knitting into her basket and sprang to her feet. She would not allow herself to start the new year with this black mood hung so heavily over her. She just wouldn’t. Jims would have his snow play. 

After his nap. She quietly made her way downstairs, stopping only to put on her warmest wraps, and made her way down to Rainbow Valley. Once there, she paused, uncertain where to start. The pile of snow on the tree stump looked inviting, so she turned it into a pile of snowballs. She meant for them to be waiting for Jims, but couldn’t help herself: she picked one up and threw it as hard as she could at the evergreen tree nearest. It hit with a satisfying sploosh. 

“Take that, black mood,” she said grimly. She picked up another, and hurled it. “And that, Kaiser!” Another. “Courcelette!” She flung all the snowballs, cursing the war and the croup and everything she could think of. Finally she had dug her way almost to the cold brown ground and she flopped down onto the stump, laughing and crying all at once. Her head and heart felt clearer than they had, and she reveled in the quiet beauty around her. 

Just a few more minutes, and then she’d see if Jims was awake and ready. She couldn’t wait to see the joy on his face. It wouldn’t hurt her a bit now, she knew.

 **December 1917**  
“Willa! Willa! My fwiend is back!” Jims dashed out of his crib and bounded onto Rilla’s bed. 

“Oh, you monkey,” she groaned, yawning as she sat up. “What friend is back, dear?”

“The snow,” he explained. “When can we go play with it?”

“After breakfast,” Rilla said, feeling a little thrill herself as Jims cheered. 

Rilla wouldn’t let him rush through his morning routine or meal, but despite that, they were soon enough outside. The muted hush of the snowfall was broken, thoroughly, as Jims howled in delight, tearing his way through the snow and visiting all his favorite snowy haunts. 

“It’s all diff’went in the snow, Willa,” he explained seriously. “This twee is only fwiendly when snow is here. But that bush doesn’t like snow at ALL. It’s only fun when it’s all gween and you can hide under it.”

“Naturally, darling,” Rilla said, amused but also understanding. Things did change in the snow. “ _It reaches to the fence, it wraps it, rail by rail, till it is lost in fleeces; It flings a crystal veil over stump and stack and stem_ ,” she quoted, the Emily Dickinson poem flashing to mind. “Shall we build this friendly tree a snowman friend?”

“No, tell me more!” Jims demanded, then frowned. “No, yes,” he tried again. “Build a snowman and tell me more! Please!”

As they created, and snowflakes danced and spun around them, Rilla obediently began reciting. After exhausting her supply of winter and snow related poetry and stories, they decamped to the living room fire to dry off and create their own. 

That night, Jims fell asleep clutching their poetry and his drawings thereof. All the Blythes had much petted him for his interest, and Rilla knew deep in her bones that while he might always be an Anderson, he would also forever be a Blythe. 

**December 1918**  
The morning dawned cold and bright in her quiet room. Even after six weeks, the absence of Jims’s sleep sounds and movements surprised her. She no longer woke up in a fright at the silence, but the silent, still mornings sometimes said volumes. She had shared Jims with her family at every other time, but never this one.

The brightness that had awoken her suggested snow had fallen overnight, their first of this new peaceful world, and she wrapped herself up to peek out the window. The gleam had not been wrong and she smiled as she traced her finger along the frosted pane. There was something special about waking up and finding the world changed in the snow, rather than watching it shift. An extra magic. 

The snow, pristine and shimmering in the sunlight, reminded her of Jims’s first snowfall--how she'd resented him then! She never would have imagined then that she'd have cried at his leaving. A little wistfully, she hoped that Mrs. Anderson would let Jims visit with his newly arrived friend. 

With or without Jims, there was plenty to do, and Rilla set about her day with determination. She paused every now and then to watch a grey sky roll in, and then lazy snowflakes begin to fall again.

“It's awful quiet without that little man begging to go outside and play,” Susan noted as she passed by.

Rilla smiled lightly. “If you listen to Cousin Sophia, Mother will soon have grandchildren to fill the place with noise and chaos, now that the peace has come.”

Susan snorted. She could not any longer refer to Jem, Faith and their group as children, but nor did she have to dignify the thought of them having children with any response. 

At lunch, father brought up Jims’s last winter poem, about the angels’s playground, and mother wondered how he was settling in. 

“I think I’ll give Mrs. Anderson a ring today and see,” Rilla said, as carelessly as she was able. 

Everyone approved of this plan, including, as it turned out, Mrs. Anderson.

“I’m real glad you ‘phoned over, Miss Blythe,” she said heartily. “Jims has been telling me all morning about his friend the snow and the happy trees over by Ingleside. He has a real good imagination, doesn’t he? I declare, I do like the stories he tells.”

“He is very clever,” Rilla said, more than a little proud.

“That he is. He was asking to see you and your folks and I promised I would find out if we could arrange a little visit. He’s been hard at work on Christmas presents for you all.”

“Oh, yes,” Rilla said eagerly. “We’d love to have him. Perhaps even this week?”

They arranged for Mr. Anderson to bring him by two days hence, and then again for an overnight visit after Boxing Day. Rilla hung up the ‘phone and headed to the living room with a bounce in her step. Her dear, blessed little war-baby! He might not be hers nor a baby any longer, but she was glad all over to know that she was as missed as he was. 

**December 1922**  
It was difficult to tell who was more excited when the door opened, Rilla or Jims. 

“Where’s my baby?” he demanded immediately, thrusting a small basket at Rilla. 

“That’s a fine hello,” Rilla chided gently, setting the basket aside, and Jims flung his arms around her for one instant. It was all his 8 year old pride could offer. 

“‘lo, Rilla,” he said. “Ma sent over some of her Garibaldis. Is the baby sleeping?” For Jims was a devoted big brother, in both the Anderson and Ford families.

“He and Kenneth are just finishing up lunch,” Rilla said, ruffling his hair. “Do you want a bite while we wait?”

“Nah. Well, maybe a cookie,” he suggested. Rilla passed him a Gardibaldi and he caught her up on all the Glen school happenings. He was looking a mite red and sweaty in his winter clothes, and Rilla was about to suggest they wait outside when Kenneth and baby Gilbert appeared, bundled and ready to go.

Jims rushed over to give Gil’s satiny cheek a kiss, and to pump Kenneth’s hand. They got along, as Jims said, like gang-busters.

“Let’s go!” he said, bouncing on his toes. While he no longer called the snow his friend, he did have many favorite snowy haunts at the Ford home, as well as Ingleside and his own domain, and he was eagerly looking forward to introducing Gilbert to all of them. 

He led the Fords around their property, explaining the best of the best to the very patient infant. They came to a rest next to Jims’s favorite tree to climb, and he tried to press a tiny snowball into Gilbert’s equally tiny hand. 

The baby squished it, his face scrunching up at the icy cold drenching his hand as he debated whether to cry or not. After a moment, he let out a peal of laughter and Rilla and Kenneth’s eyes met each other with delight. Their baby’s first laugh!

“No, no, you’re supposed to throw it,” Jims said, ignoring this momentous occasion and modeling the act. “Try again,” he encouraged, pressing another snowball into the little hand.

This time, Gilbert waved his arms after squishing it, which had the effect of shaking snow all over himself. 

“I don’t think he’s getting it,” Jims said, a little disgusted. “He’s still too little, I guess.”

“You didn’t get it your first year, either,” Rilla said, laughing as she dusted Gilbert off. “Next year, he’ll be more fun to play with. Maybe even by the end of this winter!” 

“I suppose,” Jims conceded. 

“What if we let Kenneth take him inside while you and I build a jolly snowman for him to look at?” Rilla asked. “That may be a good first lesson in enjoying the snow.”

“We’ll make it nice and big,” Jims said, already planning. “Bigger than Kenneth, even. He has to see it all the way from his bedroom and that’s on the second floor.” 

“A tall order,” Rilla said, “But I think we can do it.” 

They fell into planning and the afternoon passed successfully, with Kenneth called in to complete the finishing touches high above Rilla and Jims’s heads. Rilla snugged baby Gilbert to her tightly, cheering her boys on. 

Her three wonderful boys. She couldn’t imagine a life better than this.


End file.
